


World Spins Madly On

by JustAGirl24



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Birthday Party, F/M, Fluff, Green Plaid Shirt, I Don't Even Know, Kid Fic, Preschool AU, Resolved Romantic Tension, Single Parents, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:24:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAGirl24/pseuds/JustAGirl24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Single dad Jaime Lannister really can't figure out why his daughter loves her preschool teacher so much.</p><p>Or maybe he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo this prompt came from the boards over at jaimebrienne.com. All blame can go to the awesome peeps who lurk there.
> 
> First time in the GoT universe, and I only casually watch the show (i.e. Hubby lets me know when Brienne is on the screen and I scurry over), so let me know if I get something terribly wrong.
> 
> Title comes from the song by The Weepies of the same title.
> 
> I love concrit, kudos, suggestions, and comments. Thanks in advance!

"So, I need you to be there."

"Come again?"

"What, right here? We haven't even gone on a date yet!" Jaime exclaimed, hand over his heart and feigning offense. The rising flush on Brienne's neck and face was _exactly_ what he'd been hoping to see, and he gained no small amount of satisfaction from the sight... until he saw her gritting her teeth.

"Okay," he said quickly, before she had a chance to form a reply, "what if I told you you're the only person Myrcie would tell me she wanted to invite?" Brienne sighed in resignation.

"All right," she replied. "I'll be there."

* * *

Jaime _really_ didn't understand why his daughter liked the wench so much. She wasn't cuddly, nor was she overly affectionate, and she certainly didn't look like someone a child would want to be around.

_And yet._

Sometimes Jaime picked Myrcie up from The Rainbow Garden early to find all of her classmates, only three and four years old, clustered around Miss Brienne's knees as she sat cross-legged on the floor and read to them during circle time. Or hanging off her sizeable hands in the playground, begging for Miss Brienne to push them on the swing or ride the seesaw. And no matter what, Myrcie demanded a hug from Miss Brienne before she left—which she always received.

Jaime guessed he could see the appeal after all. Brienne was gentle, although large. She was warm, although not cuddly. And she seemed to respect the thoughts and feelings of her small charges, even if she wasn't overtly affectionate.

Jaime personally preferred her after he'd gotten her riled up—hence the jibes and overt innuendoes. Calling her _wench_ while dropping Myrcie off in the morning was a favorite, especially when she crisply informed him that he could call her _Brienne_ or _Miss Tarth,_ but her name was _not_ wench, as he well knew.

And maybe he preferred Brienne most of all when she genuinely smiled at his daughter every morning and hugged her goodbye every evening. Which was neither here nor there.

But still, there were easily a dozen children in Myrcie's class—couldn't she have mentioned at _least_ one of them for her guest list? Sansa or Shireen? No, right now there was only one guest requested by his rather precocious daughter: Miss Brienne. So Jaime found it within himself—with great suffering—to honor Myrcella's request. Since the wench had agreed, he considered it all to be a great success.

Too bad Jaime had almost no experience with small children and birthday parties.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously y'all. You rock.

"Margaery Tyrell, stop it _this instant_!" Brienne exclaimed with exasperation. She really shouldn't have been surprised by the mischievous giggle on the other end of the line.

"Ooh, I must've hit a nerve! You're using your teacher voice on me!" she crowed in delight. Brienne heaved a sigh.

"You know the kids like me. Myrcie likes me. It's a birthday party. For a four-year-old. It's not a big deal!" she said almost desperately. There was a lengthy pause while Margaery waited her out (and how did her silences always leave Brienne a babbling mess?), until finally she relented. "Okay, it's a little bit of a deal," she muttered, stabbing her fork into her meatloaf and glaring at the wall, Margaery's smugness an almost palpable sensation through the cellphone pressed to her ear.

"He'd easily the most gorgeous parent who comes to your school," Margaery pointed out. _Probably thinks she's being helpful,_ Brienne thought sourly.

"I wouldn't know," she answered tartly, but felt the familiar ugly flush rising from her chest at Margaery's comment.

Margaery simply tittered in response.

Brienne sighed and dropped her head to the table with a groan.

Being a preschool teacher was supposed to be easier than this, wasn't it?

* * *

The following morning found Brienne in her classroom, welcoming her small charges in with smiles and high-fives. As she turned to help Arya struggle out of her coat, she heard a delighted "Wench!" from behind. With a great sigh and a quick prayer to the gods for patience and fortitude, Brienne turned to face Myrcella's father.

"Ah, Mr. Lannister," she greeted him, voice calm but irritation making her face feel hot. "As I've told you before, you may call me Brienne or Miss Tarth, but my name is not, and never has been, _wench_."

"But where's the fun in that?" he answered with a shit-eating grin that Brienne dearly wished she could wipe off his face. Instead, she ignored him and smiled down at Myrcella, standing next to Jaime and holding his hand. Myrcie's answering smile was all Brienne could ask for.

"Ready to come in?" she asked. "Sansa's here already, playing at the sand table." Myrcella nodded and ran off to the far corner of the room after a vigorous high-five, and when Brienne turned back, she noticed Jaime looking at her with a soft smile.

And he still wasn't leaving.

Usually he headed right out with a wink and a smile, or a _'see ya, wench!'_ , so why was he still here?

"Mr. Lannister, is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked briskly, shifting uncomfortably, and watched as the soft expression on his face turned into the cocky grin she was more accustomed to.

"Yep!" he replied, obnoxiously popping the 'p'. "Was wondering if you could help me figure out where to get a cake."

Brienne stared. "...A cake," she repeated slowly.

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "Yes, a cake, a traditional birthday delicacy made with mostly sugar and sometimes accompanied by ice cream. If you're lucky, one of those icing flowers. A _cake,_ " he finished expectantly.

How could one man be such an ass? Brienne rubbed her forehead. "Just go to the bakery," she mumbled. Was it time for him to leave yet?

"Right," he replied solemnly. "The bakery." He continued to stare at her expectantly, as if waiting for her to continue. A line was beginning to form behind him. _Not that he would ever care,_ she thought, and wished it wasn't so rude to roll one's eyes at the parents.

"Any bakery, Mr. Lannister. They all sell cakes," she said, holding onto the raggedy ends of her patience.

He raised his eyebrows, as if to say, _go on_.

Brienne resigned herself to the situation at hand. "...I'll write a few down for you when you pick up Myrcie, okay?" And tried not to think about how her insides were twisting at the bright smile he threw her way. With a wink and a smile and a "see ya, wench!", he walked out of her classroom.

With a small groan, Brienne closed her eyes for a moment.

Really. Honestly. Brienne just _knew_ being a preschool teacher was supposed to be easier than this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I was dared to use the word 'thrust' twice in this chapter by ikkiM, and it was like I was in middle school again—I succumbed to peer pressure. 
> 
> ...Am I one of the cool kids now?

"It feels weird," Jaime said abruptly.

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Brienne asked in a long-suffering tone.

"I mean, this table is too short.  These chairs are _definitely_ too short.  I feel like a grasshopper, and you actually resemble one right now," was his candid answer.  A muscle twitched in Brienne's jaw, and Jaime watched in fascination as a dark flush rose up her neck.

"Mr. Lannister," Brienne began, and ohh, Jaime loved it when she called him Mr. Lannister, because that meant he'd _really_ got her back up—"Am I staying late at work—because this is my _job_ , you understand—to help you with a personal issue, so that you can insult my classroom and my appearance?"

Jaime's smile slipped a bit, and _shit_ , she had a point—that was dishonorable.

"You're right," he placated. "Thank you for helping. And letting Myrcie stay and play. She loves being here and around you," he finished sincerely.  At the mention of Myrcella, Brienne turned an affectionate gaze on his daughter, playing happily at the sand table, then cleared her throat.

"Very well," she said with a brisk nod and slid a paper across the (very tiny) table. "These are a couple bakeries nearby."  Jaime noticed a bit of hesitance on her face before she finally said, "I don't mean to be rude or pry, but haven't you ever ordered a cake before? Are you just having a laugh?"

Jaime watched her a moment, habitual cocky expression disappearing into one of solemn regard.  _How much to tell the wench?_ he wondered.  The last thing he wanted was for her to view Myrcella differently. Then he noticed the regret on her face—whether for her supposed prying or her vulnerability over being laughed at, he didn't know—which only reminded him: Brienne really wasn't the type to hold anything against a child.

Decision made, with a self-deprecating smile, he said, "You know that saying, some men are born into greatness and others have it thrust upon them?" He gave a wry chuckle along with her half smile. "I was sort of thrust into fatherhood."

A delighted laugh—"I rather imagine thrusting is what got you _into_ fatherhood, actually!" before Brienne clamped her hands over her mouth, blue eyes— _astonishing eyes_ —widening almost comically, with Jaime's laughter picking up where hers left off.

"Really, wench?" he asked through his chuckles, a playful gleam in his eye. "You've imagined me thrusting?"  And oh, _gods_ , Jaime would always cherish the look of mortification on her face.  He'd almost managed to recover from his laughter and continue with his story, but he guessed the commotion had distracted Myrcie—a feat in and of itself, considering her love of the sand table—who came running over to stand at the side of the table.

"Hi sweetling," he greeted Myrcie as he slid his arm around her in a hug. "Having fun?"  And soon, Myrcella's enthusiasm filled the space between Brienne and Jaime, and he noticed the flush slowly retreat from her hairline as she listened to his daughter, and nodded along with her chatter, and Jaime thought, well—Myrcie's teacher might be ridiculously tall and bordering on ugly, but—

There really was something lovely about her all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, everyone. I really appreciate the enthusiastic response this story is getting!


	4. Chapter 4

“Hello?” Brienne answered her cellphone, startled.  _Who would be calling this late in the evening?_ she wondered.

“Ah, wench!” she heard, and really, why was she surprised that her caller was none other than Jaime Lannister?  “Did you get my email?”

“Email?” she repeated, at a loss. _And why do I always feel two steps behind when talking to him?_

“Yes, I sent it at least an hour ago.”  Of course, she thought with a groan, Jaime would expect an answer to an email within an hour. On Friday night.  After 10:00.

Brienne opened her laptop.  “Mr. Lannister, I’m afraid I was relaxing during my off-work hours.  How inconsiderate of me.”  She heard a humming sound, as if in agreement, and really, she could just about throttle—

Brienne looked at the list Jaime had emailed her.  Agog might be a good word right now, she thought faintly.

“Now you need a caterer? And a locale?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Sorry, no.”  This was getting out of hand.

“No?”

“No,” Brienne repeated firmly. “Absolutely not. Myrcie is turning four. You have a bounce house set up in your front yard and you order pizza and you eat cake and _that_ is a birthday party.  _This_ ,” and she was so irate, she was gesturing at her computer screen with no one to see the emphasis, “is ridiculous.”  She could almost hear the frown in Jaime’s voice.

“ _I_ don’t think it’s ridiculous,” and _gods_ , was he _pouting_?  Brienne sighed.

“Look, Jaime,” she began (and he really should be appreciating the concerted effort she was making, because when did she become the designated party planner here?), “do you know what you need to have a good party?”

“No, but I know you don’t need a caterer or a locale,” came the dry reply, and Brienne had to hold back an exasperated laugh.

“You learn quick,” she responded wryly. “Okay, you need good cake and good company. That’s it.”  At the doubtful sound Jaime made, Brienne rushed to say, “I mean, food is nice too, and so are presents, but all she’s really going to remember is that the people she loves are there. Promise.”

After a long pause, wherein Brienne wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have just done a Google search for “caterer Kings Landing,” she finally heard him huff.  “Okay, between you and me, I’ve never had to do this before.  I mean, we had extravagant affairs, not birthday parties.  I’m pretty sure my fourth birthday party was more like a gala.”

“I’m beginning to pick that up,” Brienne replied humorously.

“So… Good cake, good company, great birthday party,” he recited.

“You got it.”

“You’re sure about the caterer?”

“Very sure,” she replied firmly.

“Well,” Jaime said, and Brienne waited a few beats for him to continue. “Your viewpoint was… helpful.”  What did one say to that? Was that a thank you or a compliment or what?

“You’re welcome?” Was this going somewhere?  But no. “Bye, wench,” was the last thing she heard before the line clicked.

Brienne rubbed her face with both hands after putting her cellphone down.  This finalized it—she really needed to stop giving her number to the students’ parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, and for everyone who comments, thank you especially for sharing your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FROSTING.

Myrcella was practically vibrating in excitement as Jaime helped her from the backseat of the car.

“Daddy, we gonna get da cake?” she asked with a grin, clinging to his hand as they walked toward Sweetie-Pie Bakery.  Jaime loved feeling Myrcella’s small, dimpled hand in his, loved listening to her chatter brightly next to him without a care in the world.  Less than two years she'd been in his life, and _What did I do before Myrcie?_ he thought.

“We are, sweetling,” Jaime smiled. He’d ordered Myrcie’s birthday cake from this particular bakery on Brienne’s suggestion a week previously, and was excited to see his daughter’s reaction.

“An’ Miss Brienne gonna come to my birfday party?”

“That’s what Miss Brienne said!” he replied.  Gods, what was it about the wench with his daughter?

“Daddy,” Myrcie said, stopping in her tracks before Jaime could open the door to the bakery.

“Yes, Myrcie?”

“Daddy, I fink Miss Brienne should be my mommy.” Jaime stared. “I wanna mommy like Sansa, Daddy,” she informed him solemnly.

“Ah—well—uh—" Jaime scratched the back of his neck, thoughts racing furiously through his head.  No, seriously, how did he not know Myrcie liked Brienne _this_ much?  “I’ll… see what I can do,” was the best reply he could come up with.  Satisfied with that answer, Myrcie took his hand again as he opened the bakery doors.

 _Gods, at least he couldn’t be confounded by a cake,_ he thought.

* * *

 

Jaime awoke to a clattering sound coming from the front of the house and squinted at his alarm clock.  _6:45_ it read in large red numbers.  Was Myrcie up?  Usually, she woke him up if she was the first to rise, but maybe she had wanted a drink of water?  Maybe there was a burglar?  Just in case, Jaime crept toward the kitchen—

And turned on the light to find himself completely, utterly, and in all other ways confounded by the cake.

More specifically, the cake which had just smashed all over the kitchen floor.

The cake which was supposed to be resting safely in the refrigerator.

The cake which was currently adorning his daughter’s face, frozen in surprise, the footies of her pajamas, and the ends of her blond curls, pink frosting creating a sticky film over everything.  _This cannot be happening,_ Jaime told himself, staring at the remains of the cake. 

“Oh, Myrcie,” Jaime sighed, letting his head fall back against the wall.  The mess was terrible—and then Myrcella started crying, big heaving sobs that turned her chubby cheeks pink as fat tears soaked the collar of her pajamas and her lower lip quivered.

“I sorry, daddy,” she hiccupped.  “I—I—I—"  Jaime rushed to put his arms around her.

“Shhh, baby,” he whispered. “It’s just a cake, yeah?” And he rocked Myrcie from side to side, trying to calm her down.  _Where do I even begin with all this?_ he thought.  Sobbing child, ruined cake, inconceivable disaster that was his kitchen—

Jaime pulled his cellphone from his pajama pants pocket and dialed a familiar number.  _I’m never living this down,_ he thought.

“Hi Brienne,” he began sheepishly.  “I’ve got another problem…”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frosting: Part Deux

Brienne heard the wailing before she actually reached Jaime’s front door, still rubbing sleep from her eyes and hoping desperately that Jaime had a coffeemaker in his house somewhere.  _If all he has is tea,_ Brienne thought, _I quit._   But as the wails rose in pitch, Brienne squared her shoulders and knocked on the door.

She was surprised by several things— _too damn early for surprises!_ —first being how quickly the door flew open.

Second being the volume of Myrcella’s sobs.

Third being Jaime opening the door in nothing but pajama pants.  _Do I thank the gods, or curse them?_ she wondered, Margaery’s taunting words from their last telephone conversation ringing in her ears.  _He really is ridiculously gorgeous,_ her traitorous mind prodded her.   Positive she had turned a bright shade of red, Brienne struggled to meet Jaime’s eyes, until he spoke.

 _“Brienne,”_ he said, so fervently, it was like she was the answer to his prayers.  “I am so glad you’re here—Myrcie’s inconsolable, I can’t get her to calm down—I don’t know what to do at all,” his words came in a rush as she brushed by him, into the house, and crouched before Myrcie—still in her pajamas, still with bits of white cake and globs of pink frosting splattered on her, and still crying so forcefully, Brienne was afraid she would be sick.

“Myrcie, Myrcie, Myrcie,” Brienne crooned, pulling the girl into her arms and rocking her back and forth, humming soothingly in her ear, heedless of the tears and snot being wiped on her neck and shoulder, the cake and frosting being mashed into her once-white shirt.  Brienne knelt in the remains of the cake for several long minutes and continued to rock Myrcella and rub her back, listening as her sobs lessened to occasional hiccups, then to a few gaspy sniffles, until finally she heaved a great sigh and laid still.  Brienne gave her a moment and then stood, bringing Myrcie with her.

“Where’s your shower?” Brienne asked, turning to Jaime—and why was he looking at her like that? If he was anyone else, or she was anyone else, she might say it looked warm, or affectionate, or something— _something men did not look at her like, that’s what,_ Brienne reminded herself firmly. 

“Second door on the left,” Jaime finally gestured down the hallway.

Brienne had gotten Myrcie settled on the small stool in front of the sink and started a bath by the time she noticed Jaime lingering at the door, looking lost and shifting from foot to foot— _and couldn’t he put a damn shirt on?_ she wondered in irritation.  _You don’t really want that,_ the other half of her brain replied, and _why_ did her evil voice sound like Margaery anyway?!

“Jaime, why don’t you go clean up some of the… uh… C-A-K-E,” Brienne suggested gently, glancing at Myrcie to make sure she didn’t set the little girl off again.  Jaime looked relieved to have something to do and nodded once before disappearing.

“Come on, Myrcie,” Brienne said, “let’s get you in the bath.”  Myrcie nodded and sniffled a little before hugging Brienne’s leg.

“I love you, Miss Brienne,” Myrcie mumbled into Brienne’s knee, and Brienne wanted to melt.  She placed a large hand on Myrcie’s bright curls, tender and warm.

“I love you, too, Myrcie.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frosting III: Return of the Frosting. For ikkiM. 
> 
> Dedication to the GPS fan club. Enjoy, ladies!
> 
> Special thanks to Impress for the prompt, without which I probably would not have written this fic. :)

Jaime was using his bare hands to scoop the last handfuls of cake into the trash bin, listening to the low murmur of Brienne’s voice and the higher pitch of Myrcella’s responses, which suddenly got louder as he heard the bathroom door open.  He heard the _thumpthumpthump_ of little feet as Myrcie ran by him and up the stairs, wrapped from neck to calves in a fluffy green towel, wet hair streaming behind her as she disappeared into her room, yelling “I get dressed, daddy!”  Jaimed shook his head in amusement and stood as Brienne appeared, seeming content to follow Myrcie at a slower pace. 

Jaime scratched his chest idly, heedless of the pink frosting and white cake crumbs he smeared there. As Brienne paused in the kitchen, he waited to see if his wench had something to say, but instead watched her eyes fall to where he had just scratched.  _Well… isn’t that interesting?_ his brain pointed out slyly, and Jaime was about to tease her mercilessly—until he noticed the state of her shirt.  _Must’ve been splashed by Myrcie,_ he thought with the last sliver of his coherency, because the thin cotton was plastered to her front and he could clearly see the bright blue bra she was wearing through it, and—

 _Gods,_ Jaime wanted to groan, _when was the last time I’ve gotten this worked up over a woman’s underthings?_   Jaime was the first to look away, clearing his throat and gesturing vaguely at Brienne’s torso and glancing down at her frosting-smeared pants.

“I, uh, have some extra clothes if you like.”  It was only then that Brienne seemed to realize where her gaze had landed, eyes flying to Jaime’s own, face turning bright red.  And then she gasped— _actually gasped!_ —as she followed his gesture and noticed her transparent shirt, arms flying up to cross over her chest.

Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, but unable to hold back a grin, Jaime turned to rinse his hands in the sink, then walked up the stairs, leaving Brienne to reluctantly follow.  He passed Myrcie’s room—happy chatter as she narrated her actions to an invisible audience, a _bang_ which spoke of a closed dresser drawer—and continued on to his own bedroom.

“I don’t know how great it’ll fit, but it’ll do in a pinch,” Jaime mumbled over his shoulder while rummaging through his closet, finally emerging with a green flannel button-up and a pair of denims—only to see Brienne standing uncertainly at his doorway.  With a sigh, he made his way over and shoved the items in her hands, spinning her to face the bathroom across the hall.  “You can change there,” he said, giving her a small push, grinning as she grumped out a noise and closed the door behind her.

Jaime closed his bedroom door and leaned against it, knowing he needed a change of clothes himself and at least a quick shower to wash away the leftover…cake debacle.  Thoughts of Brienne accompanied him as he gathered fresh clothing.  Jaime was intrigued by so many things regarding his daughter’s teacher, her loyalty and steadfastness, her warmth towards his daughter, her— _vivid blue smallclothes, blue like her eyes, like the oceans Jaime had loved to visit as a child._  

He was definitely intrigued by Brienne Tarth. 

Oh yes. Definitely.  What to do about that now?


	8. Chapter 8

Brienne smoothed down the green plaid button-up and glanced at herself in the mirror for a moment.  It fit well, thank the gods, even if it felt odd to be wearing someone’s— _Jaime’s_ —clothes.  The jeans wouldn’t quite button across her hips, but a hair tie pilfered from the sink and looped through the buttonhole did the trick.  Brienne sighed and scrubbed her hands through her hair, trying to arrange it in a somewhat decent manner, and _who the fuck was she kidding?_   She was in _Jaime’s_ house, in _Jaime’s_ bathroom, wearing _Jaime’s_ clothes, and—

She could not get over her embarrassment.  _Gods!_   The way she’d stared at him… and the whole time, not even realizing the state of her shirt!  _Stop it,_ she told herself firmly.  _You are both adults and can just forget this ever happened._   She steadfastly ignored the Margaery-voice singsonging, _until you get home toni-ight!_

Brienne squared her shoulders and opened the door to find Jaime waiting for her in the hallway, fully clothed this time with shower-damp hair, and for some reason, she was almost fascinated by the sight of his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet.  She quickly looked back up, lest she be caught staring, and saw Jaime taking in her outfit, eyes dark and—hungry?  He finally looked up and met her eyes.  “You look good in my clothes, wench,” he said with a half smirk, and Brienne knew she was gaping at him, could feel the familiar flush rise up her neck and suffuse her face.  _What to say?_ she wondered, but was saved by Myrcie throwing her door wide open, a huge smile on her face as she saw Brienne.

“Miss Brienne!” she squealed, and Brienne couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.  Myrcie ran to hug her leg, chattering happily as she did so.  “We gonna get da new cake, right Miss Brienne?” she asked, followed by a stream of more questions that Brienne could barely keep up with.  Brienne glanced over at Jaime, who was looking back at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Um,” Brienne began— _where to begin!_ —and continued in a low voice without interrupting Myrcella’s talking, “she was really upset earlier because she thought she wouldn’t turn four without the birthday cake.”  Brienne looked down at Myrcie, then back at Jaime.  “At least, that’s what I was able to piece together.  So I thought, you two could go get one?” she mumbled.

But apparently Myrcie was paying more attention than Brienne thought, because she immediately tipped her head back to look at Brienne, still hanging onto her leg.  “No!” Myrcie said, very seriously.  “I get da cake wiv _you_.”

“Oh!” Brienne startled.  “Um, I don’t want to get in the way,” she said hesitantly, glancing at Jaime, who merely smiled at her.

“If you’re not busy, you might as well join us,” he said.  “I owe you breakfast, anyway.”

Brienne felt trapped—on the one hand, her lonely apartment awaited her.  On the other, wasn’t this just a little _too_ ‘happy families’? Especially with one of her students.  At her continued hesitation, Jaime finally made the decision for her.

“Come on, wench,” he cajoled lightly.  “You can’t say no to pancakes.”

Brienne looked at Jaime’s handsome face, his warm smile, the hopeful look in Myrcella’s eyes, and made her decision.  Who could say no to pancakes, indeed?  Certainly not her.


	9. Chapter 9

It was probably sometime in the middle of his second pancake, when Brienne was laughing at something Myrcella had done, that Jaime realized how rare— _amazing? attractive?_ —Brienne was.  And he sort of liked how he _got it,_ how he saw something that most people looked past, and saw someone outstanding.  He could feel the dopey smile on his face, but couldn’t find it in himself to care—he had pancakes with his daughter, and Brienne smiling across the table.  On impulse, he leaned across the table to catch Myrcie’s attention.

“Honey, why don’t we _make_ your cake?” Jaime suggested with a smile that turned into a grin at his daughter’s widening eyes.

 _“We_ make da cake?” she repeated.  Jaime nodded, then laughed as Myrcie clapped her hands together while nodding furiously. 

“Okay, Myrcie, we’ll go to the store and pick everything up.”  He glanced at Brienne, who smiled warmly at him.  “Miss Brienne will help us, right?” he asked with a grin, and Myrcie shrieked her agreement.  Jaime settled in to finish his pancakes—the morning was shaping up nicely after all.

* * *

Jaime came into his kitchen to see Brienne pulling Myrcie’s birthday cake out of the oven.  She set it on the stovetop with a slight clatter and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, shutting the oven door with her hip, and— _she looks like she belongs here,_ he thought.  He took a moment to study her—flour and batter spattered on the clothes, _his clothes,_ she wore, and _gods,_ wasn’t there something just incredibly tempting about the wench in his shirt?  He could picture her wearing nothing else, humming as she made scrambled eggs in the morning, smiling that warm smile as he and Myrcie came into the kitchen—all of a sudden, she turned and jumped when she noticed him, startling him out of his reverie, but quickly joined in his laughter despite the embarrassment clearly written on her face.

“Everything all set?” Brienne asked, rubbing her cheek and leaving a streak of flour behind, and he wanted nothing more than to follow it with his own fingers, tip her face down a fraction, kiss her senseless—

“Well, we read ‘Guess How Much I Love You’, and we sang _Moon River_ twice, and now she’s out like a light.  I have a few hours before the party starts, so I think I’m good.” Jaime paused a moment, collecting his thoughts, before finally saying, “I really couldn’t have managed all this today.  Thank you.”  And he sincerely meant it—he’d probably still be kneeling in the middle of his very own cake wreck with his daughter bawling on his shoulder and no closer to figuring out a solution without Brienne’s intervention.  He caught her gaze— _such amazing eyes,_ he thought—and her answering smile lit up the room.

“Myrcie’s lovely, and I’m happy to help,” she replied, while the familiar blush he was beginning to love so much crept up her neck.  _She cares about Myrcie so much,_ Jaime thought, and _damn_ if that wasn’t just as sexy as seeing her in his shirt. 

Maybe Myrcie had been onto something after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cake is made.

As Brienne chatted with Jaime in his kitchen, she couldn’t help but think again of how beautiful he was, especially when he smiled— _Just really astounding luck,_ she thought, exasperated, because how was she supposed to maintain her composure when he kept smiling at her?  She busied herself with making buttercream frosting instead, letting his voice provide a backdrop while she measured ingredients, nodding every now and again.

When Jaime attempted to talk over the sound of the electric mixer, she began to realize where Myrcella got her gift of gab from.  He stood a few feet away, but she couldn’t hear him over the noise, so she looked up at him with narrowed eyes and put a finger to her lips.  Jaime raised an eyebrow and closed his mouth.  After a few moments, she turned off the mixer.

“Did you… shush me?” Jaime asked.  Brienne sighed through her nose.

“Yes!” she replied, arms waving.  “I can’t hear you when the mixer is going!”  He shrugged.  “What color frosting does Myrcie want?” Brienne asked.

“Um… she likes… blue?” Jaime guessed.  Brienne gave him a look.  “Look, I mean, it’s a different color every week.  She likes blue,” he repeated confidently.  _He’d better be right,_ Brienne thought.  She was only making one cake today.

* * *

Brienne was hunched over Myrcie’s cake, piping white polka dots onto the teal layer cake with great concentration, absentmindedly scratching her cheek with one hand.  She blew another strand of hair out of her face and wished for a headband, and finally acknowledged the eyes she’d felt on herself for the past several minutes.  She glanced up to see Jaime staring at her— _again. Why does he keep staring at me?_ She wondered—and the look on his face was the same is it had been earlier—soft, affectionate, heated—and that’s why Brienne knew she was imagining things.  Finally, she’d had enough.

 _“What,”_ Brienne snapped irritably, and Jaime’s face broke into a grin, as though the previous expression had never been there at all.

“I like knowing I’m getting under your skin,” he said smugly, and _why_ did he have to be so gorgeous and also make everything he said sound like innuendo?

“You’re getting under something,” she muttered grouchily, and saw his grin threaten to split his face from the corner of her eye.  She decided to ignore him and put the finishing touches on Myrcie’s cake.  She finally stood back to critique her handiwork— _not bad for a Ziploc instead of a pastry bag,_ she thought—when Jaime spoke and startled her.

“You have frosting on your face,” he said, and Brienne felt her  cheeks heat in embarrassment.  _Of course_ she had it on her face.  _Gods._   She wiped at her cheek furiously, then looked at her hand.

“Did I get it?” she asked hopefully.  But instead of answering, Jaime stepped closer, and Brienne watched his hand get closer to her cheek, almost in slow motion, felt the warmth of his skin on her own, and swallowed hard.  He held up his own hand, fingers smeared with the teal blue icing from the cake.

“Blue is a good color on you,” he said in a low voice, and Brienne swallowed again.  _What is he playing at?_ she wondered nervously.  She was opening her mouth to ask just that, when suddenly Jaime had tipped her face down and his mouth was pressed to her own, tongue running gently along her bottom lip, and she was against the refrigerator.  She felt like she was moving underwater, slow and unwieldy, not quite able to keep up, and all she could think was _yes, you, your mouth on mine._   Brienne grew dizzy, and the panicky voice in her head gained volume as she ripped away from Jaime on a gasp, staring at him, his eyes dark as he sucked on his lower lip.  He looked about to say something, but she cut him off.

“I—I have to go—get dressed and Myrcie’s gift and—I’ll see you later, okay?”  She was out the door in a whirl and back in her car before she knew it, and the only thing she could think was, _Jaime kissed me! Oh gods, he kissed me,_ and she couldn’t erase the bewildered look on his face from her brain as she’d fled.

 _And don’t forget,_ Margaery-voice sounded smugly in her head, _you still have to come back tonight!_

Brienne pulled calmly over to the side of the road before banging her head against the steering wheel.  _What am I gonna do now?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, and I apologize for the delay. Hope it was worth it! :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This surpassed the -ish threshold a while ago. Sorry about the long wait.

Jaime stared at the cake on his kitchen island for a few minutes, distracted from his task of setting out stacks of paper plates and vegetable trays. _Gods, I could not feel like a bigger ass than I do right now,_ he inwardly groaned. But he would have sworn to the Seven that Brienne had been interested. _Where did I get that wrong?_ he wondered. Either way, he'd run her off with his impulsivity, and now he wondered if she'd make it back for Myrcella's birthday.   _The wench has more honor than that,_ Jaime reminded himself, felt his shoulders loosen a fraction in relief.

"Daddy," he heard his daughter's voice behind him, still groggy with sleep. He turned with a smile to see Myrcie rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Daddy, where Miss Brienne at?" Jaime froze, unsure what to say. But as he shifted a bit, he saw Myrcie's eyes grow wide, and she ran over to where her new birthday cake rested. "Oh," she said. "Da cake is too bootiful, Daddy."

"It is," Jaime agreed as he lifted her to get a better look. He cleared his throat, unsure whether he was lying to his daughter but opting for optimism. "Miss Brienne had to go home and change, but she'll be back for your party, okay?" Myrcie nodded happily and wriggled out of his grasp.

"I go get dressed, Daddy," she informed him, and ran back up the stairs. Jaime smiled as she left, shaking his head a bit. He gave the cake one last look, then went  back to setting up the party. Guests would start arriving in a little over an hour—time enough to moon over Brienne's cake later. He just hoped she'd come through for Myrcie, no matter if she was angry at him.

* * *

Brienne finally lifted her head from her steering wheel.  She'd been sitting there for over an hour, but had finally decided to pretend like nothing had happened. She couldn't very well not go to the party—the gods knew she couldn't do that to Myrcie.  Jaime was probably bored or curious or— _something,_ and it didn't matter what, but he clearly could not be interested in her, that much she did know. Satisfied with her conclusion, she pulled back into the road and glanced at her watch. _Oh Gods,_ she realized in horror. She had less than an hour to get back to Myrcie's house— _a few miles over the speed limit will be fine this once,_ she decided firmly, and made her way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading... Thanks very much!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne meets someone new.

Brienne sat in her car, staring at Jaime's house and debating whether to go in yet. She'd miraculously had enough time to change, run a comb through her short hair, collect Myrcie's gift, and still get back early. 

She was saved from having to make a decision by a sudden knocking on the window behind her. Brienne jumped, startled, and turned to meet the amused stare of a man she'd never met before. He was at eye level with her, sitting in her car—a dwarf, she realized. She blinked a few times before rolling down her window. 

"Can I help you?" she asked, watching his amused smile grow wider. He seemed to be sizing her up. 

"Would I be correct in thinking you are Brienne Tarth?" he asked. Brienne wished he would stop looking at her as though he knew a joke she didn't. She nodded her head slowly. 

"And you are...?" How did this man know her name? 

"Ah!" the little man cried, clapping his stubby-fingered hands. "Tyrion Lannister, at your service." Brienne accepted the offered handshake through her window. Another Lannister? _Gods,_ was there any escaping them? "Were you going in to the party?" Brienne turned to look at Jaime's house again. 

"I suppose so," she mumbled. She rolled her window back up, grabbed Myrcie's gift, and got out. 

"I have to say," Tyrion remarked, head tipped back as he looked up at her, "you are even more extraordinary than my brother had led me to believe." Brienne felt herself flushing, feeling even more ridiculous than usual under this stranger's scrutiny, arms crossing automatically and trying to keep a neutral expression. He smiled at her knowingly. _Smug looks must be a family trait,_ she thought sourly, trailing after Jaime's chattering brother. _And loving the sound of your own voice._  

"...so you'll have to excuse me, my dear," she heard Tyrion say, "I just haven't seen Jaime take an interest in anyone since Cersei left." Brienne's ears perked up. _Who is Cersei?_ she wondered. But before she could ask, Tyrion had rung the doorbell. Brienne took a deep breath as the door began to open.


	13. Chapter 13

Jaime heard the doorbell ring and wiped his hands nervously down the front of his pants, wondering if it was Brienne who had finally arrived or another straggling guest. Myrcie ran past him in a frothy yellow blur, still clutching a fire truck in her chubby hands that she'd been playing with Sansa with. Jaime followed behind, knowing she wouldn't be able to open the door on her own, and helped her turn the door knob. 

"Unca!" he heard her shriek, followed by the chuckling of his brother as Tyrion wrapped her in a hug. 

"Tyrion—" Jaime started, but then his eyes were drawn to where Brienne stood behind his brother, shifting nervously from foot to foot while clutching a wrapped box in front of her like a shield. He couldn't help but think about kissing her in his kitchen again, running his hands under her shirt, and—

"Brother," he heard Tyrion say, "my eyes are down here." Jaime jumped guiltily and looked down to meet his brother's amused gaze, feeling almost nervous at the calculating expression on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at Brienne, then back at Jaime. 

"Well, are you going to invite us in?" Tyrion prompted as Myrcie rushed by him to hug Brienne's leg. 

"Sure, yeah, come on in," he said, opening the door wider and stepping to the side. "Do you want some help there?" Jaime asked Brienne as she attempted to walk through the door, still holding the large box with Myrcie attached to her leg. 

"Oh, um, no, I'm fine," the wench stuttered out, still refusing to look him in the eye while turning the most interesting shade of red, and _fuck fuck fuck not good!_ his internal voice screamed. Jaime sighed and shut the door, Myrcie chattering on to Brienne the whole time. When he turned around, she had finally let go of her teacher's leg and was holding out the expansive skirt of her frilly yellow dress.

"I a p'incess, Miss Brienne," she said in the matter-of-fact way of young children. He watched as Brienne set the box she was holding on the table, then crouched to talk to his daughter. 

"You're a princess?" Brienne asked solemnly. Myrcie nodded her head vigorously. 

"Yep! I a p'incess an' a fireman," she said, and proudly lifted the fire truck still clutched in her fist. 

"I see that. A princess fireman," Brienne mused. "You must be very good at that." Myrcie nodded again, so hard Jaime thought her head might bobble off. "Are you feeling better after this morning? 

"Uh-huh! We made a cake," Myrcie reminded her, very excited. "An' da cake is too bootiful." Brienne smiled at that. 

"I'm glad you liked it. And thank you for inviting me to your birthday party, Myrcie," Brienne smiled. 

"Ah course you come," Myrcie said, and grabbed one of Brienne's hand as she finally stood again. "You gonna be my mommy." 

Three things happened at once: Jaime prayed for the floor to open up and swallow him whole; Brienne froze and gaped at his daughter in what he could only describe as horror; and Tyrion began making a sound somewhere between choking and howling with laughter in the corner he'd been watching them all from. Jaime watched the confusion grow on his daughter's face and didn't quite know what to say. The expression on Brienne's face told him she wasn't equipped to help him out, either. 

"Myrcie, sweetling, Miss Brienne isn't... um... I...." 

Maybe he should've seen it coming. After all, his day had been a shit storm with a few bright spots thrown in, but mostly this party was turning into bad news all around. He'd started out with his daughter having a melt down, he'd needed her preschool teacher to come take care of the chaos, proceeded to put the (rejected) moves on said teacher, and his daughter had just sort of proposed on his behalf or something. So really, when the doorbell rang like a saving grace from the gods, of course, Jaime shouldn't have been surprised to see—

"Cersei," he breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I've apparently watched too many telenovelas in my lifetime.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for letting me get the drama off my chest. And for not throwing rotten vegetables or some such at my head.

As soon as Jaime answered the door, Brienne felt the tension in the room change from a mix of mortification, confusion, and amusement into something almost foreboding. Tyrion's pealing laughter came to an abrupt halt, and instead he looked solemnly at the coldly beautiful woman standing in Jaime's doorway. She could see Myrcie's confusion and wariness. Waves of almost palpable dread seemed to emanate from Jaime. And Brienne stood, clueless as to who this might be, but knowing it wasn't going to be pleasant. 

"Aren't you going to invite me in, dear brother?" Brienne heard the woman finally speak, and her voice was just as cold and beautiful as the rest of her, like crystal beads striking each other. 

"Step-brother," she heard Jaime's quiet reply as he stepped woodenly to the side and gestured for her to enter. Cersei—that was the name Jaime had used, she was sure of it—looked like she'd stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine, waves of golden blonde hair cascading down her back, an hourglass figure showcased by a laughably high-end dress. _Who wore such a thing to a child's birthday party?_ she wondered inanely. The woman's eyes, emerald like Jaime's but without any of the warmth, looked amused as her gaze fell on first Tyrion, then Brienne. 

"Did you finally find a girlfriend as absurd as you, Tyrion?" she asked the little man, but her gaze never left Brienne. She could feel the ugly flush crawling back up her neck and wondered if she'd spontaneously combust. 

"I should be so lucky," Tyrion drawled. Jaime made a choking sound, Cersei's eyes cutting to where he stood, then landing on Myrcie, who'd been staring at the woman, mouth wide open.

"Well hello, precious," Cersei cooed, and Brienne wondered if she was the only one who saw the mockery of sweetness on this woman's face. "And who are you?" Brienne jumped at Tyrion's sudden bark of laughter. 

"As if you didn't know, _dear_ sister," he scoffed, glaring. 

" _Step_ -sister," Cersei corrected with a sniff. She looked back at Myrcie. "Well?" she demanded impatiently, but Myrcie just continued to stare. Cersei tossed her hair in aggravation, then finally turned to glare at Jaime, who Brienne could tell was completely unequipped to handle this woman's sudden arrival. "Haven't you taught her how to _speak_ yet, Jaime?" 

Brienne started to have a sinking feeling about who this woman might be as she looked from Cersei to Jaime to Myrcie, Myrcie with golden curls like Cersei but a smile as radiant as her father's. The way she tilted her head when she was curious looked so much like the way the woman staring at Jaime was currently doing. Brienne cast a desperate glance at Tyrion to see if he could tell her what was going on, but saw his gaze fixed on his brother and Cersei, who looked like they were each trying to glare the other to death. In the meantime, Myrcie had backed up into Brienne's leg and grabbed her hand. 

"Myrcie's quite a good talker, actually," Brienne blurted out, trying to dispel some of the tension. Four sets of green eyes stared at her. "She—um—well, her vocabulary is quite good for her age," she finished lamely, not really looking at anyone in particular. She watched Cersei's eyes narrow as she saw Myrcie's hand clutching Brienne's. 

"And how would you know?" Cersei asked silkily, looking her up and down. "Oh, _Jaime,_ " she practically purred, " _really?_ Bringing this charity case around _my_ daughter?" 

"She is _not_ your daughter," Jaime hissed, finally shaken from his silence. At the same time, Brienne's shocked voice rang out,"I'm her _preschool teacher!_ " She nearly shrank under the vicious glare Cersei shot at her, but felt Myrcie's shaking hand in her own and stood her ground. 

"You haven't been her mother since you left her on my door 22 months ago because Robert told you to," Jaime said between clenched teeth, an edge in his voice. "And I haven't wanted anything to do with you since I found out you'd been hiding my child from me for over two years." Cersei scoffed. 

"I no like you," came Myrcie's tiny voice. Cersei looked outraged, spitting and furious as a wet cat. 

"I am your mother!" 

"You not my mommy." Myrcie's chin was set, anger written over her small face as they stared at her. "I no like you. Dis my birfday." And with that, Myrcie flounced out of the room to rejoin the party. 

Brienne felt like they were waiting for a bomb to explode. Cersei was shaking with fury; Jaime looked proud and amazed and achingly sad all at once; and Tyrion was grinning smugly at Cersei as Brienne saw him mouth _Three, two, one._

As if on cue, Cersei let out a piercing shriek, laying into Jaime, words flying out of her mouth so quickly that Brienne couldn't make them out. With a final shove to Jaime's shoulder, Cersei stomped out the door, threats about her lawyer thrown over her shoulder. 

Jaime closed the door quietly, the dull sound almost shocking in the sudden silence. He sat down heavily in the nearest chair, and Brienne couldn't help but think he looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. She felt helpless and underequipped to deal with any of the insanity before her, but still, wasn't she a teacher? Cleaning up messes was her specialty.

"Right," she said suddenly, clapping her hands together. Tyrion and Jaime both looked at her sharply. "What now?" She swore amongst all his chuckling that she heard Tyrion mutter _extraordinary indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thank you for still reading. ☺


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion has a few things to say. Happy Birthday is sung.

“To say I’m impressed might be an understatement, brother.”  Jaime finally tore his eyes away from Brienne’s crouching form as she played with Myrcie to glance at his younger brother.  Tyrion pulled himself onto the sofa beside him and kicked his short legs almost gleefully.  Jaime would have groaned if it wouldn’t have totally given him away.

“Hello, Tyrion.”  Jaime was instantly wary of the wicked smile on Tyrion’s face as he casually looked from Brienne back to Jaime.

“So that’s Myrcella’s new mommy, is it?” came the sardonic question, and Jaime resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

“She just dropped that bomb on me yesterday,” he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.  Tyrion took a moment to look at him carefully.

“But it’s not an unwelcome idea, is it.”  It was more statement than question.  Jaime found his gaze drawn back to Brienne, who had put on one of Myrcie’s tiaras at his daughter’s continued insistence, a cheap plastic thing that was all silver paint and blue plastic crystals and yet brought out the deep blue of her eyes.  He sighed and met Tyrion’s eyes again.

“No,” he mumbled with a shrug, watching Brienne laugh as Sansa tried to put a matching necklace around her teacher’s throat before finally giving up and putting it around her own neck.

“Excellent,” announced Tyrion, rubbing his hands together.  “I always told you that you were a man made for love, brother.”

“Do you think you could be any more obvious?” Jaime rolled his eyes. 

There was a long pause before Tyrion replied, “I couldn’t be any more obvious than you, Jaime.”  He shot a glare at Tyrion, who smiled back.  “Or her, actually,” he added with a meaningful glance in Brienne’s direction.  Jaime looked over and caught Brienne’s eyes with his own, smiled at her flustered blush as she averted her gaze back to the large plastic fire truck Myrcie was pushing into her lap.

“She’s good with Myrcie,” Jaime murmured to his brother, who nodded thoughtfully.  “And she’s kind,” he added. “She helps even when it doesn’t benefit her to do so.”

“The opposite of our family, then,” Tyrion said dryly, and Jaime chuckled a bit.  “It’s enough to make one feel almost indebted, isn’t it?”  Jaime narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not sure I catch your meaning,” he said, a warning tone to his voice.  _What is Tyrion playing at?_ he wondered.  Tyrion shrugged.

“Is this your way of paying a debt?” he asked.  “Playing around with the school teacher?”

“I think you know it’s a little more than that,” Jaime hissed.

“Oh yes,” Tyrion admitted.  “I just had to be sure that you knew that, too.” 

It occurred to Jaime that he really, really wasn’t in the mood for Tyrion’s games and riddles today, and was about to tell him so, except Myrcie climbed into his lap.

“Daddy, I wanna cake,” she said.

“You do?” he asked with a smile, kissing her forehead.  Myrcie nodded quickly.

“You go get it?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes, Myrcie,” Jaime laughed.  “You sit with your Uncle Tyrion, okay?”  Myrcie nodded again, crawling into her uncle’s lap and talking a mile a minute, while Jaime stood up.

“Do you need help, Jaime?” Catelyn asked politely from where she’d been chatting with Jaime’s friend Addam.

“Oh, I think we’re all set,” he replied with his most charming grin.  _Doesn’t matter,_ he told himself.  _That woman is never going to like me._ Oh well, at least she didn’t have a problem with their daughters playing together, which was all he cared about.  He headed to the kitchen, and was in the middle of pulling the ice cream out of the freezer when he heard Brienne’s hesitant voice behind him.

“Do you want me to help with anything?” she mumbled.  He turned to look at her, endearing in her nervousness, her face still flushed red as a beet as she tried to meet his eyes and instead stared at the side of his refrigerator.  Jaime smirked.

“How good are you at singing ‘Happy Birthday’?” he asked, smirk turning into a grin as she rolled her eyes and finally gave him a half-hearted glare.

“Pretty terrible,” she admitted.  “I’m great with scooping ice cream, though,” and she looked pointedly at the gallon of vanilla he held in his hand.  He handed it to her with a laugh, fishing a scoop out of the drawer. 

“Just give me a second to grab the candles and some matches,” Jaime muttered as he rifled through his junk drawer, finally drawing both items out with a triumphant _aha!_   He saw Brienne smile out of the corner of his eye as he put four candles in the top of the cake and struck a match, touching it to each of the candles in turn.  He finally blew it out and picked up the cake.  “Shall we?” he asked with a half-smile and a raised eyebrow.  Brienne smiled and rolled her eyes, following him out of the kitchen as he started a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ and headed back to Myrcie.

 _She really wasn’t lying,_ Jaime thought, as he listened to her off-key voice join his and he saw the excited smile lighting up his daughter’s face and everyone else picked up the tune.  But it was the best sound he’d ever heard.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second-to-last chapter. Oh my gosh. We're almost done!

Guests were starting to leave, and Brienne was trying desperately to leave with them.  Yet every time she tried to make her good byes, something prevented her. 

First it had been her inner preschool teacher, screaming at the thought of leaving the mess of crumpled paper plates, melted ice cream, and cake crumbs there.

Next it had been Myrcie.  She was so delighted with the gift Brienne had picked out—a small foam sword and shield—that she’d had to have one last swordfight before her teacher could leave.  _At least she likes the gift,_ she thought, looking longingly at the door before allowing herself to be toppled to the ground one last time, hand flung over her heart as she feigned her death.

Lastly, it had been Jaime’s brother.

“You wouldn’t mind taking the cake and ice cream into the kitchen while I put Myrcie to bed, would you?”  Tyrion was looking up at her with a face full of innocence and eyes full of mischief.  Brienne looked at him suspiciously but couldn’t find a polite reason to say no, so she sighed and nodded her head instead.

“Time for bed, Myrcie!” Tyrion called as his niece ran over to him, blond curls bouncing as her foam sword swung next to her yellow skirt.  “Do you want to say goodnight to Miss Brienne?” he asked, and she nodded enthusiastically, hugging one of Brienne’s legs tightly.

“Night Miss Brienne,” she said, finally letting go and looking up at her teacher.  She motioned for Brienne to lean down until she was eye level with the little girl.  Myrcie looked at her seriously.  “I like you,” she whispered, as though it were a big secret. Brienne stood back up, smiling. 

“I like you, too, Myrcie.  I’ll see you at school on Monday, okay?” 

“Okay,” Myrcie threw over her shoulder as she ran up the stairs.  “Come on, Unca!”  Brienne looked after her, bemused.  Six years as a preschool teacher, and she would never get over the boundless energy that children had.  She was jostled from her thoughts by Tyrion, who had started making his way up the stairs behind Myrcie.

“I think I’m in agreement with my niece, Brienne.  I like you, too.”  Brienne stared as he paused and looked back at her.  “Don’t forget that cake, now,” he reminded her with a devious grin.  As if she could.

_Lannisters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter will most likely be up later today or tomorrow! Eep!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Eep! Noooo!!!
> 
> This is my second chapter for the day, so make sure you didn't miss Chapter 16!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The end. Wow, I can't believe it, and I just have so many people to thank!
> 
> First of all, huge thanks to ikkiM, without whom there would be no frosting, and also this probably would have only been like five chapters. Max. Maybe blame is a better word?
> 
> Thank you to all the ladies (and gentleman) of chat. I started writing this because I wanted to feel like I could join you all. True story. (Just to be clear, that was a self-imposed expectation.)
> 
> And last but certainly not least, thank you to everyone who had read and reviewed and left kudos. It has made all this writing worthwhile.

Jaime was lost in thought as he watched the soapy water swirl around the dishes he was washing.  All the guests were gone, everyone _(not quite everyone,_ he reminded himself) popping in to say farewell as they filed out the front door.  He’d heard Tyrion call Myrcie to get ready for bed and was grateful to not have to suffer through his younger brother’s ribbing at the moment.  After everything that had happened today, what with Myrcie’s little announcement, Cersei showing up so unexpectedly, and not least of which was apparently foisting his unwelcome advances on his daughter’s preschool teacher, he couldn’t really blame the wench for leaving without a word.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t wish otherwise.

With a sigh, he rinsed off the last dish and pulled the plug in the sink, staring as the water drained.  Jaime jumped at the clatter of glass behind him, spinning to see Brienne placing the cake platter on the island and smiling at him hesitantly before glancing down at her hands.  _Well, at least she looked at me,_ he thought, crossing his arms and leaning back against the sink, watching her carefully.  She still looked nervous, her gaze darting from him to the cake to the refrigerator she stood next to, chewing on her bottom lip until it was plump and red, and he couldn’t help thinking about holding her against the refrigerator like he had that afternoon, soothing his tongue along that lower lip and—

And this was really not helping things be less awkward here.  _It wouldn’t be the first time a woman rejected me,_ he thought half-bitterly.  Time to try to solve this.

“Brienne,” he said quietly, gently, and was nearly taken aback by the astonishing blue of her eyes as she met his gaze and held it, almost like she was daring herself to do so.  He smiled involuntarily, then decided to address the elephant in the room.  He couldn’t be sorry for kissing her, no, but—“I’m sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he offered.  At least that was the truth.  She shrugged and looked away.

“Don’t worry about it,” she mumbled. “You wouldn’t be the first.”  Jaime raised an eyebrow at that.

“I wouldn’t expect to have been your first kiss, wench,” he said dryly, and savored the way she stiffened at the hated nickname, fist clenching at her side, dark flush rising up her neck.

“That’s not—I didn’t—” she spluttered, then finally took a deep breath and looked at him, determination written in her face and her eyes sparking blue fire.  “You wouldn’t be the first idiot to get it in his head to see what it’s like to kiss the great beast of a _wench_ who’s probably grateful for the attention anyway,” she finally hissed.  Jaime felt his jaw drop, speechless.  To say he was shocked would be an understatement.

“Listen, w— _Brienne,_ ” he finally protested, “that wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t kiss you for the entertainment!”  She stared at him, disbelief clear on her face.  Jaime swallowed hard.  “I wanted to kiss you for you,” he finally muttered. 

 _“Right,”_ Brienne huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes, crossing her arms.

“I mean it,” he said, earnest.  “If it was unwelcome, I apologize.  I misread the signals.  I don’t want things to be weird, though.  You’re still Myrcie’s teacher and she adores you.”  Brienne looked down, muttering something Jaime couldn’t hear.  “Come again?” he said, and watched a smile twitch across her lips.

“What, right here?” she murmured with a chuckle, Jaime joining in as he thought about the conversation that had led to all this.  She finally met his eyes again, hers still sparkling with mirth, and sighed. “It wasn’t…necessarily…unwelcome,” Brienne admitted, leaning back against the refrigerator and looking up at the ceiling.  And that’s when Jaime saw it. 

“You have frosting on your face,” he said, a delighted smile on his lips.  Brienne shot him a dark look.

“I do not,” she muttered, scrubbing at her face with her shirt anyway.  Jaime took the opportunity to move right in front of her, waiting.  “Are you lying or do I really—?” she cut off, startled.

“I was lying,” he admitted, running his thumb along her jawline and under her ear, enjoying the smooth texture of her freckled skin as she arched her neck into his touch.  He moved closer still, pressing her back against the refrigerator.  His lips brushed along the same path his fingers had before murmuring in her ear, “It was on your neck.”  She snorted out a laugh, which turned into a strangled sound as he sucked the blue icing off a spot under her jaw.  He pulled back once more to meet her eyes, wide and cobalt blue now as she licked at her bottom lip.  “Brienne—” he started, but they both froze at the sound of his brother stomping into the kitchen to look at them with a delighted grin.  Jaime glared back halfheartedly.  “ _Yes,_ brother?” he asked, longsuffering clear in his voice.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Tyrion called out as he backed out of the kitchen, then paused and popped his head back in.  “Just so you know, that leaves you a _lot_ of leeway.  Oh!  And Myrcie’s asleep.”  Jaime heard him laugh as the front door shut behind him and sighed.  He looked back at Brienne, still pinned between the refrigerator and his body.  Her freckles contrasted against the dark red of her blush as she chewed on her lower lip, her eyes squeezed shut.  _Just when we’d been getting past this miscommunication…_

“I love him, but Tyrion’s a little shit,” he murmured, grinning as she huffed a small laugh and opened her eyes.

“I imagine so.  He ran me a bit through the wringer on my way in earlier,” she admitted.  Jaime tamped down a smug smile when he noticed she was staring at his mouth.

“Brienne,” he whispered, “I’m going to kiss you now unless you tell me not to.”  Startled blue met warm green, and he bit his lip, smiled.  She followed the movement, nodded her head once, and that was all Jaime needed.

This time, he didn’t have to tip her face down; she was already there to meet him.  Her mouth was just as full and plush as he remembered, his tongue gliding along her chapped lower lip until she opened for him.  It was intoxicating, the taste of icing and Brienne, the tentative way she returned his kisses, the awkward moment when his nose bumped hers and they both broke away, laughing, breathless.

“So…Myrcie likes you,” Jaime whispered into her shoulder.  “I like you, too,” he grinned at her, enjoying the way her blush rose further up her face.  He raised his eye brows expectantly.

“I guess I like you, too,” she muttered, and his grin stretched even wider.

“That’s good, then,” he replied, brushing his fingers along her collarbone.  She smiled and rolled her eyes.  It was a good start.


End file.
